


Sticks And Stones Let Me Atone

by orphan_account



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: 5+1, 5+1 Things, Angst, Gen, Pain, h/c, sorta - Freeform, that was the original intent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The infinity stone fiasco cleared the legal record of Peter Quill, Star-Lord. However, the stone didn't leave him unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks And Stones Let Me Atone

The first time it happened, he was alone. Not even one hour after the battle for Xandar, Peter Quill, Hero and Ex-con Extraordinaire, collapsed in a heap of blinding purple on the green carpeting of his Nova-provided room. He was seriously regretting shoving off the medics in favor of nursing his wounds in private at this point, as pain rocketed in violet veins across his skull and down his spine. He can't tell if the small squeak drifting through his ears is a whimper or a scream, drowned by the rushing sound of blood pulsing behind his ears. His skin feels too tight for his body, and he swears the burning feeling crackling across the expanses of his body means he's disintegrating again. It feels like hours, but the pain finally dims enough for him to sluggishly pull himself up off of the floor and onto the plush yellow bed. He lays back, or rather, plops his torso onto the soft, cool surface, relishing the gentle feeling on his stinging skin for about fifteen seconds-then someone knocked on the door.

Much to his irritation, he pulled himself out of bed with a groan, preferring that to yelling with his still sore throat. Maybe he had been screaming. He slowly trod his way over to the door, ignoring the slight purple tinge to his vision, and opened it. Contributing slightly less to his irritation, Gamora was waiting patiently on the other side of the door, Rocket close behind her, clinging to a small pot with a few sticks in it.

"Dude. You look rough" said the shorter one, eyeing him. "Remind me why you didn't want to see a medic?"

"I prefer to nurse my own damned wounds, thank you very much. _In private._ " However, the words didn't come out as threatening as he intended them to, considering his voice cracked like an adolescent whining about a family vacation. _Shit._ "So could you please leave me be?"

"You're hurt." Gamora, ever so gracefully, stated the obvious.

"No shit, Sherlock. Now can you please let me be? I've got to patch myself up a bit more before we meet with Nova Prime." Peter thought out loud, musing. "It's in about thirty minutes, isn't it?" It was set for two hours from the end of the battle. He had to get rid of the stone. Maybe since he was in close proximity, since he touched the damned thing, it still had a hold of him.

"That's why we came up. You're late, we were sent to make sure you weren't feeding us all a load of 'I'm fine' bull, shit-lord." Rocket entered the room, followed by Gamora. "Since you're missing about an hour, I'd say you were feeding us all a ton of shit."

_ Shiiiiit. _ "Oh." _That fit lasted about forty minutes. Holy..._ "It would seem so."

"Sit down. Let me help you." Gamora used her 'kicking ass and taking names' voice, so Peter thought it best to obey. It totally wasn't because he was still reeling from his fit earlier.

"Rocket, would you mind fetching the med kit? I need to clean the burns." Gamora started to poke at his face, so, following the standard Star-Lord-Logic, Peter started fidgeting. "Peter. This will be far simpler if you just. Stay. Still." She said, grabbing his face to punctuate her sentence.

"Got it. Whatcha need?" The cyborg offered his help, albeit one armed.

"Burn Cream." The assassin put out her hand, and Rocket complied. "Where else are you hurt, Peter."

Peter complied with her demands, too tired to put up all that much of a fight. He took his right hand and lifted up the left corner of his shirt, showing a map of bruises and cuts littering the expanse of his side and back. Rocket whistled, "How'd you expect to treat that, princess? Magic? Doubt you'd have been able to reach most of that."

"To be honest, I'd almost forgotten about it." The words come out without much thought, and a moment later, Peter almost regrets it.

"What are you not showing me, Peter." Gamora almost sounds motherly, and it almost hurts him to hear that tone again, for the first time in years. But the attack should have only been because of the proximity, right? No need to make a big deal of it. That's at least what he thought.

"Nothing." He said, just a little too fast, which earned him a very sharp look from Gamora. "No, really." He scoffs, but it sounds shallow. Finally, Rocket crawled over and gently grabbed Peter's left hand, opening it. Peter tensed and hissed slightly in pain, the area still raw from the stone.

"Now, was that truly so hard?" Gamora chides, trying to sound light, but her eyes betrayed otherwise as she pushed up his sleeve past his elbow. She gingerly dipped her fingers into the jar of salve, and prayed that it would do something to aid the angry purple-red cracks.

"Yes." Peter hissed, as the cooling sensation spread up his arm, he felt a tension he didn't know he was holding in his shoulders release. He hoped they wouldn't see through the thin lie, as he sat still and allowed Gamora to tend to his wounds.

Peter made it to the meeting without another attack, which made him believe that it really was just a one-time deal. He thought that it was just a strange little fluke, a mistake of the universe. A remarkably miserable mistake, but still, just that. He handed over the stone with pleasure, and retreated to his room for the night.

* * *

The second time it happened, it was two days later. Denarian Dey asked to show him around the Nova Corps, and Peter was surprisingly well behaved for an ex-con-we won't talk about the marker incident that he was totally and completely uninvolved in. They were having a great time, talking up a storm, when Peter's head started hurting, and he started to wobble like a newborn fawn.

"Peter?" Dey, only receiving a grunt in response as Peter leaned against the wall, face in the crook of his arm, was not deterred. "Peter. Throw me a bone, here. I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

"Headache." Peter curtly responded, not wanting to say what he thought it really was, more for his own sake than the newly promoted officer's. "Can we just head back to my room?"

"Well, we could, but my office is closer, and I may have some pain killers in there." If Peter had been willing to remove his eyes from their dark haven, he would have seen a very concerned Dey, and probably wouldn't have flinched when the man laid his hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Pain killers sound lovely right now." The Terran hybrid groaned, allowing Dey to lead him to the man's office. Peter was uncharacteristically quiet, understandable, considering that the man currently felt as though his entire body was on fire.

"Now, here we are. My office." The man paused, looking around proudly, before remembering why he was there. "I know I left those painkillers somewhere around here..." The Xandarian scrambled about the room, leaving peter on his own.

"If you can't find them, I'll be fine, just let me go back to my room and sleep it off," The Terran hybrid was facing rapidly increasing pain, and to be frank, he just wanted to pass out.

"No, it'll only be a minute," came a muffled voice, almost completely overshadowed by the shuffling of drawers. The shuffling ceased, however, when Peter let out a moan. "Peter?" When the ex-ravager didn't respond, Dey looked up. The Terran didn't look all too good. He was shaking, back pressed against the wall, head slumped down and arms limp at his sides. "Peter!" Dey called out, his tone sharp and worried. It jolted Peter enough that he opened his eyes for a moment, seeing only blinding purple. He let out a small whine, crumpling to the ground instantly. Dey rushed over to the younger man, kneeling down beside Peter before he could try and get up. Dey grabbed the Terran's hand and nearly dropped it when he saw his eyes. They weren't the normal earthy green color, but instead, a bright, burning purple color. "Shit."

"Dey? What..?" His voice was slurred,

"Your eyes are purple." Distress laced the official's voice.

"Figured." The word came out as a moan, it was the best he could manage, considering his entire body felt like it was burning.

"Should I call someone?" Dey voice had a worried tone, as if he was already planning on calling in a medic. "Your team?"

"No need. There's really not that much they can do." Peter's voice was tight, eyes now scrunched shut in a vain attempt to blind himself to the purple light.

"You sure? Your team should know. It might happen to them."

"I will. Just-ugh" Peter groaned through clenched teeth. "Not. Now." His voice was strained and halting, the edges of his vision were dancing with darker shades of purple. He groans, wanting the darkness to spread and claim him already, but it was resisting. "Just... Let me be." He grates out, panting.

"Are you sure?" Dey stares intently at the prone figure, looking for any sign that he would accept help.

"Yesss," hissed Peter. "I'll be-fine" he panted out.

"I'll just stay here. If you need me to get someone-something, just let me know. Slap my leg or something."

"Gotcha." Peter rolled over to his side, attempting to curl in on himself as the pain rapidly rose to debilitating levels. He lost himself in the pain, though, occasionally, he would come back down to feel Dey's hand on his shoulder, or his leg against his back. Peter didn't know if it helped the pain or not, but it gave him something to ground himself with. After some time passed, Peter finally moved, stretching his sore body. "How long?"

"About a half hour." Dey spoke quietly, as if a loud enough tone would set peter back into a fit.

"Really. Felt longer." Peter sat up slowly, bracing himself against the wall. "You're not about to let me off without some answers, are you."

"That's correct, Peter." Denarian Dey looked down at him from where he stood, offering a hand. "What exactly was that?"

"Honestly? I really don't know." Peter took the proffered hand, pulling himself up on unsteady legs. "Best guess is that the stone isn't ready to let me go."

"How many times? The Xandarian lead him to his desk, sitting the Terran down in his plush office chair.

"Once. Right before the meeting with Nova Prime." After the fit, he was far too exhausted to even consider sugarcoating it. "It lasted longer last time. Might be slowing down. Or it could be proportional to the distance from the stone." Peter pauses in thought before continuing, "I honestly don't know."

"If I leave you to your own devices, you will tell your team." It was more of a demand than a question.

"I don't think I have a choice," Peter explains. "What happens if we're fighting against the next genocidal maniac, and I just collapse? They'll find out. I'll tell them."

"They deserve to know. Don't take too long."

* * *

The third time it happened, he was having an argument with Rocket. They were alone in the cockpit, Gamora and Drax were out fetching supplies. Rocket had been tinkering with spare bits and bobs from around the Milano when he started to disassemble part of the thruster engine, and that, of course, bugged Peter.

"Listen. I am fine with you building trinkets and such on my ship. Not so much _from_ it." He complained, trying to put the spare parts back in their proper place. "I just got her back yesterday, show a little respect!"

"I thought you said that thing—doofy Terran phrase, what was it," The raccoon mused to himself. "Mi casa es su casa?"

"Groooooo!" The now-tiny tree confirmed his friend's story.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you disassemble la casa!" The Terran retorted, rapidly developing a headache. He assumed it was from frustration, what with a portion of his ship disassembled.

"Well, I don't even know what that is!" Rocket threw his arms around to punctuate his point, bolts flying everywhere.

"Woah, woah—watch where you fling your bomb-gun-whatever! And it means house! My house is your house, mi casa es su casa, you are welcome here _if you don't disassemble it_!"

"Well sorry if your strange Terran phrases occasionally go over my head! At least I get most of them!"

"Drax is another issue entirely unrelated to this!" His headache was getting worse, pain spreading down his left side to his hand— _oh shit_. "Listen, just—keep the ship in working order." Peter took in a deep breath, resting his hand on his eyes, trying to make the blow as gentle as he could—not that there was much he could do. "I'm going to leave the engine room, you're going to put things back in working order, and everything will be totally awesome, kay?"

"Geez, Quill, didn't know it bothered you that much." Rocket eyed him, analyzing the Terran's sudden change in manner. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just a headache."

"Well, we have plenty of painkillers—not much of a chance to use the stock from Nova yet." He mentioned, still looking at his teammate.

"Thanks—I" Peter suddenly stopped, bracing himself on the console. He could hear Groot keening in the background, trying to warn Rocket of what was to come.

"Oi, Quill! You sure you're okay? Because you really don't look it." The cyborg questioned, glancing at his potted friend for a moment. "Groot here may be rather small at the moment, but he's perceptive as ever, and it seems he agrees with that."

"Goddamned stone." The Star-Lord panted, breathless and pained. "Didn't want to—want to tell—weak, dammit I'm weak."

"Okay, take a deep breath, Star-Princess." Rocket instructed as he clambered up onto the console, trying to meet Peter's eyes. "Just sit down in one of the chairs and I'll get you some pain meds, okay?" staying nearby until he saw Peter lower himself into a chair, he headed towards their storeroom/medbay to fetch whatever painkillers he could find. Or at least, he was, until he heard Peter's throaty scream.

Peter was lost. His body was burning, dry and cracking, his veins were filled with burning oil and his nerves were exposed through his seared skin. Granted, somewhere, in that small corner of his brain that was still grounded, that could still hear Groot's high pitched keens and feel Rocket climbing on him and grabbing his jacket hard, he knew that he wasn't on fire. However, he was in far too much pain to be bothered by such trivial details. He saw nothing but bright, burning purple licking violet flames across his person. He heard little more than silence and the imagined crackling of his own skin. He felt nothing but pain. In the back of his mind, he heard rocket climb down off the chair Peter had curled up on, shuffling in the direction of the keening sentient plant, briefly pausing before shuffling back.

Rocket had inspected his friend for injuries as quickly as he could, though seemingly for nothing. He paused for a minute, staring at Quill's scrunched up face in a contemplative manner, before making his decision and opening the man's eye. He saw a flash of purple in the dark expanse of his dilated pupil, and let go with a curse. Dismounting the chair, he went to grab Groot, and returned, making the plant's keening cease. "He's gonna make me lose my dignity, ain't he." He gruffly mumbled before curling around Peter, resting Groot's pot where the Flora (currently not-so) Colossus could reach out his vines and rest them on the prone figure's shoulder. "This stays between us. And him. But he doesn't seem in the mood to negotiate secrets just yet."

"I didn't know you cared, Rocket." Peter finally found his voice, granted, a bit gruffer than it usually was, but it was back.

"Shut it, Shit-Lord," the cybernetic raccoon scolded.

"Listen. Can you do me a huge favor?" The Terran began, wiggling himself out of his awkward position in the chair, his friend following suit, clutching the potted creature. "Don't tell the rest of the team. I don't—I'm not—I don't want them to think I'm weak."

"First off, they need to know." Peter almost interrupted Rocket's rant, but the Cyborg didn't allow it. "Second off, they ain't about to see ya as weak. You held the stone alone, faced certain death for the sake of a planet that never accepted you, and came back alive. Third, what the _actual hell_ was that shit?"

"I don't—I just can't tell them yet." Peter sighed. "It's happened three times now. I thought it was just proximity to the stone. But I guess not, since we're a few star systems away." The Terran leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

"When." Rocket stiffly asked.

"Right before the meeting with Nova Prime." Peter flinched when he saw Rocket tense up out of the corner of his eye. "And again while Dey was giving me the grand tour."

"So that's why you lost time." Rocket paused, thinking over his words. "You should have told us."

"I thought it was gonna be a one-time deal." Peter mumbled, almost as if he were a kid caught in the cookie jar. "Thought the stone was reacting to me being in the same room."

"Doesn't matter now." The Raccoon was muttering to himself, ears twitching like they always did when he had a dilemma to solve. "Tell ya what. I won't make you tell them immediately. But if you don't tell them by the time of your next attack, I'm calling them in and showing them."

"Honestly I don't know which one I'd prefer." Peter relaxes his shoulders, thinking. "It's a deal."

"Well, if it continues like it has, you've got about two days to decide."

* * *

 

The fourth time, he was walking the Eclector with Yondu. They both happened to be looking for a job in Knowhere, though it wasn't as accidental as Yondu would like Peter to think. The Blue man was rather proud of his boy, though if any of that was ever actually uttered aloud, somebody would be dying, and he wanted to see the Terran's face, not just a hologram. So, much to the team's distress, Peter ran off with Yondu for the day.

"Whatcha been up to, boy?" The Centauran cheerily asked, flinging an arm around the Terran's shoulders.

"Well, we've had a pretty slow week. Nobody on the criminal underbelly trusts us not to turn them in, nobody supported by the Nova Core trusts us not to steal and/or pillage, and Nova themselves think we need a break." _And I really might._ Peter left his doubts in his head, because while he's about 99% sure that the crew wouldn't eat him if he passed out, he wasn't entirely sure how Yondu himself would react. It was always pretty dog-eat-dog with the Ravagers.

"Well, you do look like you need it." Yondu glanced towards his boy's face, the dark purple shadows around his eyes telling him more than anything. "Them Guardians been letting you sleep? 'Cause it sure don't look it."

"Yeah, they're great. They actually almost mother me more than Kraglin did." Peter had a bit of a giggle with the captain at the first mate's expense.

"Yeah, that ones just a big mother hen, ain't 'e." The Centauran chuckled, "And you say your crew is worse?"

"Yeah. Actually, I've been getting these headaches since the whole planet-saving thing," Peter figured some extreme sugarcoating was in order, feeling Yondu's penetrating gaze on his face. "Nothing all to big, they come and go within the hour, but I got that 'I'm too tired for your shit' tone with rocket in the middle of one, and he literally climbed up my body, scratched my elbow, see?" He pouted, mainly for effect and made a show of rolling up his sleeve to show off a tiny red spot, earning a chuckle from the larger man. Peter grinned lightly and continued, "And he flipped out, climbing all the way up, grabbing my face and questioning me, like 'How many times, shit-lord? Is it the stone? You should tell the team."

"The rat seriously climbed ya like a tree?" Gentle mirth laced the blue man's voice, and he let a short laugh before leading the Terran into the mess hall. "Hope your hungry, boy, I got Horuz to cook your favorite."

"Holy shit, seriously? How'd you get him to break schedule?" Peter wiggled his way out of the weak headlock the Centauran had wrapped him in, looking excitedly into the other man's face, searching for signs of bull shit, and finding none.

"I got him to make only ten servings. Rest of the crew gets the normal stuff, and we get the special dish, and if ya leave enough leftovers, you can take 'em back on your ship." The blue man grinned at the Terran's excited victory dance. "Plus, most all of the crew is out at various bars, so we've got the mess to ourselves, maybe with Kraglin, you know how he is with people."

"Sweeeet. I get good food and possibly a mother hen. How's he doing without someone to coddle?" Peter waltzed to a table, sitting down across from the captains usual spot.

"He's actually trying to coddle me, believe it or not. I've never been on such a good sleep schedule in my life." He admits as he sits down.

"That's great Yondu! Surprised he didn't try earlier!" Peter giggled at the idea, "You pacifying him?"

"Actually, when he goes all maternal, he kind of scares me." Yondu confided, "But if you tell anyone that, I'll serve your jugular on a silver platter. Won't even cook it." The threat was empty, but Peter would respect it anyways, after he was done laughing. Which was actually a lot sooner than Yondu expected. He heard the boy-Peter will always be a boy to him-let out a groan, and Yondu looked up at his face. "Boy? What's wrong? Forget something?"

"No. Headache." Peter shut his eyes, cursing. "Should've had another day," The Terran mumbled, barely audible to the other man, who would have missed it if he hadn't been listening.

"Another day for what? Boy, look at me when I'm talking to you!" Yondu summoned his captain voice for the first time that visit.

"Headache. Spaced over two days. Bad one yesterday, with Rocket." The Terran's voice was halting, slow as he lifted his head. Yondu saw him open his eyes, saw the blown pupils, and he saw, flickering in the center of the black expance, a purple flame.

"Shit, boy. Why didn't ya tell me?" Yondu moved around to sit next to Peter. "Never mind that. What can I do."

"Don't leave." His voice is barely a pant now, so Yondu leans his boy into his lap, putting his hand over the Terran's eyes, hushing him.

"I'm not planning on it, boy." The blue man started whistling to the tune of one of those songs he never stops playing, hoping the tune makes it through to his boy's brain, and gently runs his fingers through the curly blonde hair, waiting to feel the kid relax.

About twenty minutes later, Kraglin walked in, stopped just short of a shout at the sight before him. Yondu motioned him over, pointing to a chair on the other side of Peter. Yondu watched as Kraglin sat down, giving the captain a pleading look.

"Its that goddamned stone." Yondu kept his voice low and soft, so as to not aggravate the Terran's pain. "Doesn't want to let go of him."

"Shit." Kraglin muttered, "What should I do."

"Grab the food from the kitchens. Horuz should have left it under the heat lamps. Might be hungry when he gets up." Yondu says before whistling aimlessly again, making Kraglin turn back for a second, not completely surprised to see the Yaka arrow dancing whimsically in the air. He only spared it a second, before running into the kitchen.

Peter, for once, was relaxed. It took him a second to remember what happened, but he did, and bolted upright, with only a little bit of regret. If he made a particularly pitiful moan, Yondu didn't mention it.

"'Bout time, boy. Now you gonna explain that little episode of yours any better?" The backwater accent was very soft, compared to its usual vigor.

"Do I have to?" Running a tired hand down his face, looking hopefully up at his father figure.

"Well, seems it don't need much clarification, right Kraglin?"

"Seems so, captain. Foods ready." The first mate said, gesturing to the table.

"Great. I'm starved."

"Bet you are, boy. Now, real quick, do ya need some painkillers? Cause that looked pretty gnarly, and don't you dare try and deny it. You probably have one hell of a leftover headache right now, no need for sugarcoating. "

"'Fuck shit up, don't show weakness.' Isn't the Ravager Code?"

"You forgot one. 'Family never leaves.'" Yondu sighed. "That one tends to be left out, considering part 2 and the average IQ of the crew."

"Well, that was a lot of rhymes." Peter shot back with a grin. "Thanks, Yondu. Means a lot."

* * *

The fifth time, he was asleep. Well, initially. He was in his bunk, peacefully dreaming of the shining stars that would never cease to fill him with a childlike wonder, when it suddenly changed. He saw a mirror, no, a window. He was peering into a room he would never forget. He saw his mother's empty hand, his grandfather grabbing him, and he felt burning tears stream down his face, creating crevices and ravines, splitting his head and body. He woke with a shout, but the feeling did not fade. His entire body was cracking, his skin flaking away like embers. The blood rushing behind his ears was loud as the geysers of Morag, and he couldn't help but wish for his family. A few moments later, his wish was granted. He heard something like a sledgehammer on his eardrums, stronger on one side. He limply turned his head in the direction it came from, hoping it to be someone knocking.

He wasn't sure as to whether his eyes were open or closed. His head felt like it was on fire either way, and the burning sensation was overriding whatever sense he had of his actual face. He could be drooling for all he knew. He just hoped whoever opened the door was nice and he looked appropriately pitiful. And as it turned out, he was right. He felt cool, nimble fingers flit about his face, grabbing his hand briefly before leaving his side entirely, abandoning him to the pain. He let out a pitiful moan before succumbing to a painful, nightmarish, burning hellscape dreamland.

Gamora woke to the sound of a shout. Or it may have just been a normal volume exclamation—the walls on the Milano were thin, as they all found out when they first moved in, when Drax tried to have a conversation with Peter on the main deck and ended up having a conversation with Rocket in the engine room. No matter what it was, it woke her, at 0300 in the morning, so she figured it wouldn't hurt to double check that it wasn't just a dream. She walked out of her room, hoping to be able to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. Her suspicions confirmed when a groan reached her cybernetically enhanced ears. She had thought it might have been Drax or Rocket having a nightmare, and was surprised to find that the noise was coming from the starboard side of the ship-Peter's room. Now, in the five days they've spent in the Milano together, she had been woken from her slumber by Drax, Rocket, as well as her own nightmarish memories, returning to them at full force when their eyes were closed and guards were down—sometimes more than one of them a night. Who was she kidding, basically always more than one a night. However, not once did Peter wake her. Either he wasn't tormented as they were by any part of his life, or he was astonishingly silent about his problems. It could also be both, technically. Gamora found this to be a bit strange, and she paused for a moment, wondering if he would actually appreciate her interference, when she heard a shrill scream. And she ran, slamming the door console until it opened. She heard rustling from the other side of the ship—either rocket or Drax had woken.

She rushed over to Peter, shaking his shoulder, a shout about to bubble past her lips, when she saw his eyes were open. She saw purple flickering flames flitting about in his pupils, the bright red veins spidering around the whites of his eyes darkening to purple. "Shit." She breathed, mentally cursing the stone as she observed how tense his body was. She lifted herself from her kneeled position on the floor and sat herself down on his bed, moving his head onto her lap, running her hands through his curly blond hair.

"I heard a scream." Drax stood in the doorway. He scanned the room left to right, and continued, "There is no enemy."

"That damned stone still has a hold on him." Gamora restrained her voice to a whisper. She wasn't entirely sure why, but it just didn't feel right to speak any louder. "Apparently it didn't cause him enough pain as is."

"What should I do." Drax offered, in his usual 'I could be giving you chocolate and flowers or I could be disemboweling you and your kin' tone, but he seemed worried nonetheless.

"All I can figure is stay. It helped him when he had the stone, it could help now." Gamora mused, allowing Drax to work his way under the StarLord's legs. However, her train of thought was derailed when she heard a deep melody resonating from the berserker. She remembered it, just barely, from a time before Thanos, the warmth of it thin and wispy, like a dream floating away from consciousness. "What are you singing?" She softly whispered, not wanting to interrupt, but, at the same time, she had to know.

"An ancient traditional lullaby I used to sing to my daughter. It was her favorite." The warrior spoke in an uncharacteristically soft tone, feeling insecure, it being the first time he had spoke of his family to his shipmates. "I sung it to her whenever I saw her cry. It was the last thing she heard. I would not let her leave without it."

"That was noble if you." The assassin whispered, reverently stroking the hair beneath her palm with her thumb. "I am certain she appreciated it."

"You've heard it before." He said, more of a statement of fact than a question.

"Yes. I know it, from a distant memory." Gamora wasn't certain why she was telling him this, maybe as a sort of payment for what he had shared—an effort to build a mutual trust. "A time before Thanos. One of the few I have left. He didn't take too kindly to such things, so I tried to block out as much as I could."

"I am sorry he put you through that." Drax laid a gargantuan hand on her shoulder. Gamora tried her best not to flinch, marginally succeeding. She looked up to see the most earnest expression she had ever seen on the man's face.

"It's in the past." She said, looking back down at the prone form of her comrade. "I don't have to follow him anymore. I can remember."

And so she did. They sang, a slow, lilting melody rang through the ship. On the control deck, Groot swayed, growing faster and faster each day, but just for a minute, he stopped. He wished for time to stand still, and it almost did. The furrowed brow of his curled up raccoon companion smoothed, as did the twisted face of the half Terran man, if only for a moment. However, as all songs must, the melancholic tune came to its end, the minor chord echoing through the halls of the ship, the silence afterward seeming disturbingly empty. That is, until Peter came back around, staring at Rocket, who had recently appeared in the doorway.

"Did you tell them?" the Terran mumbled, not fully aware, and sore to boot.

"Nah, they came on their own. I just got here. They were doing a little sing-along and I wanted to see what the commotion was about." The raccoon clambered onto the Terran's lap, curling himself up in the center of their little makeshift Peter-nest. "Do ya want me too? Ya can't be feelin' all too great."

"I'll do it… just gimme five." He then put his arm over his face and curled up, just enjoying the togetherness.

"Five of what, Quill?" The destroyer asked, tilting his head in a manner not unlike a Terran dog. "I will go retrieve five of whatever you wish if you only tell me what the items are."

"Turn of phrase buddy. Kinda like a metaphor. It means that I want five minutes of peace. Just like this." He yawned. "Or it could wait until morning." With a stretch, the Terran opened his eyes to look at Rocket for approval, and seemingly getting what he looked for, he continued. "Better get comfortable, guys, because we're gonna have a slumber party.

* * *

The next morning came far too fast for Peter's liking. With a groan, he sat up, surveying the nearly empty room. Groot, about 8 inches tall now, sat in a pot on his bedside table. The small plant keened at him, seemingly very pleased to see him awake. "Hey little buddy! Have I been out for long?" Peter winced at the gravelly sound of his own voice, but he was still relieved to see the miniaturized Colossus shake his head. "Cool. So what do you say to finding the rest of the team?" The small plant crooned, leaning towards him, shaking his little head. "Great."

Peter's joints crackled as he got up with a groan. He stretched a bit, loosening his muscles before grabbing the sentient potted plant. "Man, Groot. You're getting heavy!" The plant keened under the praise, stretching his limbs out. "If you keep this up, we're going to need a wheelbarrow soon." He carried the plant through the ship, before learning that the rest of them were nowhere to be found. "Huh. Must be outside the ship." He pulled the switch to open the ships gateway, shifting the currently not-so-Colossus over to one arm, allowing his right arm to twitch near his blaster.

The metal stairway/door slowly lowered to reveal Gamora arguing with Kraglin, of all people. Yondu was sitting on a chair next to Rocket, both of them giggling at the sight. Drax, as always, was sitting around, sharpening his knives. However, he quickly stopped with an exclamation of "Quill!"

"Hey, Drax! I guess I slept longer than I intended. You managed to dock into Yondu's ship without my noticing." Peter jokingly glared down at Groot, "You could have told me that!" The little plant shook as if he were laughing, making a smile spread on his face that was rather short-lived, flattening when he locked eyes with Rocket. "Is it so impossible for me to catch a break, really? You know I don't like this touchy feely stuff."

"They sleep on the same ship as you. They deserve to know." Rocket's voice had none of its normal bite, sounding unnaturally flat without it.

"Yeah, I know. Feel like a bit of a dick for not telling you guys sooner. I just wanted a happy ending, you know? Fly off into the sunset and there's totally no lasting damage. I thought it would be comforting to have at least one person who wasn't fucked up by the whole deal." Peter flopped down into his chair, sliding his hands down his face. "The stone doesn't want to let me go. That's the best I can figure. I get these… fits. They're not exactly pleasant, but it's how it is."

"Peter…" Gamora began, voice soft. "You should have told us. We could have helped you. Or at least been there for you. You never had to face this alone."

"Well, I was only alone the first time." Peter mumbled petulantly.

"How many times, Peter. How many of these fits have you had."

But before Peter could answer, the hatch opened up, and in came everyone's favorite rogue. "So. What's the occasion?" He sauntered in, Kraglin trailing behind with a rather large pot as well as several precariously stacked smaller pots in his arms. "I brought food." He made a sweeping gesture to his second in command, "Figured we could all have a nice pic-nic" he over-enunciated the word, almost like it was unfamiliar.

The room held a tense, confused air, everything stood still, save for Yondu, unflappable Yondu. "What, having an intervention? Son, mind filling me in?"

"They steered the ship here while I was out." Peter looked up, his tired eyes meeting Yondu's red ones.

"Ahh. One of your so-called headaches that practically turn you into death warmed over for a half hour? I'm gonna take a wild guess and say they all know now." All at once, the room exploded.

"You told Yondu but not us?"

"You didn't tell me you had another attack!"

With the addition of Groot, it all descended into an unintelligible mass of words, Yondu attempting to talk nonsense over it all. It was all very surreal for Peter, realizing simultaneously that so many people cared so deeply for him and that he had hurt them so much by trying to keep them disillusioned and happy. The concept was dizzying, and honestly, when coupled with the noise of it all, was giving him a nasty headache.

However, Drax, who had been silent through this entire ordeal, decided that enough was enough, shouting loud enough to make the incessant babbling of his teammates and even Yondu to stop. "Quit this yammering. If it's giving me a headache, imagine what it has done to Peter."

"Honestly I was kinda zoned. And a little dizzy." He looked around him, a little bit awed, a little bit dazed.

"Well, eat some food! Horuz made your favorite stew! Kraglin had to threaten him a bit, but hey, the man needs a good fright now and again, keeps him in line." Yondu motioned for his right hand man to set out the pots, which he gratefully did.

Peter and his crew happily dug in, ignoring all misgivings in favor of food. Food, however, didn't stop Drax from his line of questioning. "Don't misunderstand me, this is quality food, but I would like to know a few more details on your condition, Peter."

"Please, can you not make it sound so… clinical?"

"I am afraid I do not follow."

"Never mind, I guess it's a bit of a lost cause. What do you want to know, big guy?"

"How many of these episodes did you experience alone?"

"Alone? Only the first one. I guess the stone likes being around others or something silly like that." Peter paused, he could stop there, but Gamora looked like she was about to continue Drax's line of questioning. He decided to get it over with. "But overall, including the one last night, I had 5."

Gamora hissed. "You should have told us."

"Well, it's not exactly a topic that comes up in polite conversation, is it. 'I heard the weather is nice on Zoran lately, by the way, I get these episodes of crippling pain every now and again, no big deal, just a mild burning alive sensation followed by passing the fuck out'" Peter bit back, instincts from years of surviving on a ship with a strict "Show no Weakness" policy kicking in. However, one look at his friends faces, even Kraglin and Yondu, had him regretting every word he just said. "Listen, guys. You know I'm bad at this stuff. I won't take back what I said, no use sugarcoating something this shitty. Polish a turd, it's still a turd, you know?" Peter let out a half-hearted, tired laugh. "And I won't say that I didn't want it to sound so harsh. But I didn't want to hurt you guys. I'm angry at the stone, and myself. For being so emotionally incompetent, you know? I'm the worst at this sort of stuff, except for Yondu, maybe." He gave a grin to his adoptive father. "You never were all to good at that stuff. I remember, if I started crying on the ship, you just gave me a blaster and told me to shoot something unimportant. I shot off someone's pinky toe once, didn't I?"

"Sure did. That's why we have a no shoes, no ship policy now. At least you didn't shoot his entire foot." Yondu laughed outright, contrasted by Kraglin's giggles and the crew's shocked faces.

"I'm just glad we ran into you before that man could kill you. And he would have." Kraglin said, mirth tickling his voice.

"I thought I was the only one who did stuff like that! Did they wobble? I've yet to figure out which toe is most important." Rocket was practically howling with laughter.

"Well, he limped pretty fast so I wasn't gonna stick around to see how well he could stand." Peter quieted his laughter after he caught Gamora's glare, jumping to defend himself. "What? The man was an asshole! Called my mother a whore, he didn't deserve his left pinky toe!"

With that, Yondu cackled, spitting out a mouthful of soup. "That's my boy!" He praised Peter, patting-well, more like violently slapping-him on the back. "You didn't tell me that part! Now I kinda feel bad for grounding ya."

"You only grounded me for the afternoon. And that was after you stopped choking on your laugh—" he stopped suddenly, pain suddenly overtaking him.

"Peter. Peter are you alright."

"No, no I'm not." Despite the pain, it felt good to admit it. He pitched sideways, out of his chair, straight into a pair of very solid arms.

"It is okay, Star-Lord. We are here."

"Yeah, boy. We've got you now."

"Yeah, Quill. Relax, just focus on that whole breathing thing."

Their words of encouragement melded together into a comforting blend of comforting murmurs, washing over him, taking his mind off the pain. He breathed out, and the pain stopped. Well, there was some soreness, but the agonizing burning sensation was gone from his body. He opened his eyes, squinting at the brightness of his ship, and saw the blurry image of both his new family and old. He breathed out a sigh, smiled contentedly, and spoke.

"I'm gonna take a nap."


End file.
